Girl
by xrictusemprax
Summary: Is there anybody gone to listen to my story all about the girl who came to stay? [Twist in ending]


**Author's Note: **Song-fic—Girl by the Beatles. I'm trying to do a lot of song fics nowadays, so yay. It probably doesn't make much sense, but it does to me (God, why is everything I write so sad? ).  
**Disclaimer: **I don't down this song, nor do I own Harry Potter.  
**Rating: **T, or something. Blah, screw the ratings, I dunno!  
**Summary:** Is there anybody gone to listen to my story all about the girl who came to stay?

**Girl**

_Is there anybody gone to listen to my story  
All about the girl who came to stay?  
She's the kind of girl you want so much  
It makes you sorry;  
Still, you don't regret a single day. _

His rosy were feasting upon her pristine skin, that delicious blonde hair swishing like purely woven silk of the finest kind; similar they were, like the snow outside that bled in shades of white when trampled on—it was their hearts that pumped in a musical, tender beats like a refined drum that bled, too. It was the blood that the chambers held that stung like frost upon metal. It was the beating of the organs that were tied together by not love, but animosity and lust that reminded the boy and girl how much it hurt to live.

The dazzlingly gray eyes were interlocked with clouded blue, swirling in miserable shades of navy and black, specks of light refracted on those charcoal pupils. Their eyes were wells and the tears water, spilling ruthlessly as they kissed on.

The Slytherin common room was constantly having the silence shattered by a slight sigh or loud groan from the boy and girl fighting to restrain the invisible bind of ropes. The snakes watched them with piercing emerald eyes, depraved gaze casting a spell so that fog swirled thickly as the hated passion rose and rose.

_She's the kind of girl who puts you down  
When friends are there, you feel a fool.  
Didididi...  
When you say she's looking good  
She acts as if it's understood.  
She's cool, cool, cool, cool._

It was spacious and majestic, each stair higher than the next, swirling in pools of shimmering gold. Her figurine was etched at the top of the spiraling staircase that reflected their suppressed ardor. The curious face was convulsed in misery but a definite edge of sadism as she leaned lazily against the handrail, long blonde hair falling past her shoulders, escaped strands whipping across that porcelain face as she turned her head to speak to the boy next to her. His malignant eyes followed in a straight line until they met the young boy who was standing foolishly at the bottom of the staircase, wishing his friends weren't so demanding in asking questions why that particular boy was gawking at him.

It was then he sat in the blisteringly cold snow and watched it bleed, feeling his heart do the same. It was in those times he caressed icicles that drew blood from him until they cried, leaving their tears all over his bleeding hands. The boy allowed them to rest there until they stopped bawling. He stood up and made his way back into the castle.

_When I think of all the times I've tried to leave her  
She will turn to me and start to cry;  
And she promises the earth to me  
And I believe her.  
After all this times I don't know why._

The moon was silvery and hanging aver the tower in a fatal fashion, as though irritated it was to shower the two stone figures standing upon the tower's balcony in its pale, milky light. Their hands were tangled, equally blonde hair in shambles just like their emotions. The crying tears silkily shone in self-hatred, orbs of withering youth. It killed them both in an equivalent cancer, but it was their reason for life.

He swore to himself that he'd break away from the serpentine chords clawing at his throat, but before he could allow the words to leave his mouth fully, lush lips were gnawing hungrily at his, the girl's bleak eyes allowing their tears to swish sadly down her face.

He swore he'd leave her.

She swore she'd never let him.

_She's the kind of girl who puts you down when friends are there,  
You feel a fool.  
When you say she's looking good, she acts as if it's understood.  
_

She stood before a mirror, blouse unbuttoned to reveal a pale and toned chest; his arms wrapped around her neck slightly, hands stroking the well-defined collarbones. He stood with nothing but his black pants securely around his waist, though her delicate fingers were tracing where they unzipped and unbuttoned…

He told her she was beautiful in a mantra, licking her earlobe gently to soothe the pain away. His fingers were like dull slush, tracing the trails of tears lightly as though they were subtle cuts that were open, allowing their hot blood to spill down her face and trail her neck.

He kissed her gently, letting his weight fall upon her as they lay entwined in a pool of white cloth. The words that passed his lips were forced, but she smiled through the diluted tears. They were of acid and rage, but her frosty skin emanated a sort of pallor-like glow of happiness.

He kissed her again and they fell asleep in a pit of despair, clinging sheets, and tears.

_Was she told when she was young the pain  
Would lead to pleasure?  
Did she understand it when they said  
That a man must break his back to earn  
His day of leisure?  
Will she still believe it when he's dead?_

The nights with the snow were the hardest, for the snow bled too much and mirrored their aching torn tissues. They could feel it squirt its helpless blood, crying in dissonance and tenderness. They wanted to hold the snow until it stopped crunching under their feet so helplessly, until it died peacefully.

It snowed every night that winter.

The fog was the product of a sheet of calamity that fell over their heads of the boy and girl, who still fed upon each other's skin as if it was to bring any solace to ease their pain; it didn't—a boisterous, deadly cold washed over their faces, freezing the tears in place. It was a masterpiece, their obsession to lust and craving for physical pleasure. It was a disease and addiction. It killed.

It was that winter when the icicles cut Draco Malfoy and Luna Lovegood the most.

xxx

**Author's Note:** Oh, I bet you were thinking it was a Narcissa/Lucius. I guess the element of surprise is essentially the point.

Review, because that's cool like a mule with a jewel in the Slytherin common room.. _  
_


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